Thin feelings
by emily.robbins.313
Summary: My name is Irene Adler and I have been diagnosed with Anorexia. I met Sherlock Holmes after tripping over him in the park and found out that he was the new member joining our support group. Warning: Contains eating disorders. Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this fiction of BBC Sherlock. Shirene.
1. Me

My name is Irene. My last name? Alright… If you insist, I guess; it's Adler. This is a story about the time I met someone. Someone very special, but flawed; he was as flawed as I am, if not, then even more so. But he was so perfect in my eyes. A man who called himself Sherlock Holmes… Mind; I'm not even sure it was his real name; a bit too unusual to trust, almost. Yet, I do trust Sherlock Holmes, and I think I always will.

I put on my jogging attire. Ok, so I'm fat! I don't eat _anything_! It's always puzzled me. My friends and family are determined to lie to me; say that I am thin and they're worried about how thin I am! Like _that_ would make me feel better!

I don't move. I just stand there, looking at my large, disgusting reflection. _Why the hell did I choose this?!_ I scream at myself internally, _it makes me look gross!_ '_It_' referred to a cropped top and jogging shorts. Yuck!

I manage to tear myself away from the mirror. And as I do, my mother walks through the door, allowing it to slam behind her. She's surely here to see how I'm coping; for God's sake! It's been months since those idiots at the hospital diagnosed me with anorexia. You have to be _thin_ to have anorexia! I do go to a support group, but that's only to keep my mother from moving in. Oh! That reminds me! A new member's joining tonight; by the name of Sherlock Holmes. He's only just been diagnosed after weeks of starvation; that's all we know. We've been instructed, like we always are, to not comment on appearances; but this instruction had an added warning which was, let's face it, quite interesting; "He is a sociopath, so don't take offence if he seems stiff and antisocial". Finally, someone with a bit more substance and scarring to them than just wanting to lose weight!

"Oh, Irene…" sighs my mother, reminding me of her presence once more, "Not this again! You're getting thinner and thinner each time I see you!"

I just push past her. No eye contact. No speech. No contact of any sort, in fact. I start to jog as soon as I am out of the door, not looking back.


	2. Mr Holmes

I'm in the park now. The yellow sunshine on the green leaves; just a little… sickening, in a way.

Out of nowhere, a man materialises in front of me. I don't stop in time and collide into his back. We both topple forward; he is surprisingly easy to knock over. I've landed on top of this poor man; he's spluttering and coughing. I think I've knocked the wind out of him. "God…" he coughs.

"I'm so sorry!" I apologies, "Are you alright?"

My eyes focus. He has to be the thinnest man I've met in my life! I can see all of his ribs through his tight t-shirt; all twelve pairs! And his spine sticks out like a dorsal fin; and his arms and legs! They may as well be pieces of string, they're so thin. He's too weak to get up, so I try to help him; who am I kidding? I'm almost as weak!

Upon helping him I find just how light he is. Even in my state, he's so easy to pick up.

"I… I just… need to… to sit…" he pants. I support him and help him lower himself onto a nearby park bench. He threw his back against it; cursing under his breath in pain. With an audible grunt he forced himself to say, "Sorry… It just… just feels like a knife's… been taken to my… my abdomen!"

Abdomen? Don't most people say stomach? To be fair though, it is annoying when people mean abdomen but say stomach. Hang on! I've just remembered that he's there; why am I droning on in my mind over things that are so unimportant? "Do… Do you want me to… call help?"

"No… I'll be… fine," this skeleton pants. How can someone get _that_ thin? My mother seems to be thinking for me at this moment.

I feel the need to make idle chit-chat; not knowing what else to say, "What's your name?" I feebly ask. _What's your name?_ _What is he? A lost little child?_

"My… my name's Sherlock Holmes," Sherlock. Well… This is unusual.

As his breathing slowed again, becoming more normal, he straightened. He was still in pain, his face twisted and small grunts coming from his throat.

"Hi, Sherlock; I'm Irene Adler," I instantly regret it. It sounds so boring. Sherlock coughs and hacks. There seems to be a trace of blood on his arm; was that there before? "Is there anyone I can call?" I'm getting very concerned now.

"My… My flat mate…" Another violent coughing fit, "His number's… in my phone." Ok. He's starting to calm down.

I search his shorts pockets for his phone and find it quicker than I could probably find my own phone. "What's his name?"

Sherlock takes a deep breath but it ends in more coughing. "John… Watson," he splutters.

I tap on the phone's touch screen and find his flat mate's number. He doesn't have many numbers in his phone… _Oh for Christ's sake! Focus Irene! Priorities!_

John Watson answers, finally. "Hello? Sherlock?" Says the voice at the end of the phone. Awkward.

"Sorry, this isn't Sherlock Holmes. My name's Irene Adler and-" Before I can continue, this 'Watson' character interrupts.

"Let me guess, you've found his phone 'cause he dropped it, 'cause he's been so absent minded recently. That bloody flat mate of mine-!" I decide to stop him before he raves even more.

"Sorry Mr Watson! But-" I'm annoyed that he'd talk about this poor man, this poor skeleton, like that.

"Dr Watson," sighs a miniscule whisper beside me. I correct myself.

"Doctor Watson," I try to calm myself, but I'm not in the best of minds or moods at this moment, "I'm calling on behalf of Mr Holmes; I'm afraid he's injured after falling…"

"Oh…" Dr Watson sighs.

I tell him where we are and ask if he can meet us here. He agrees. No more time wasted with talk. Not with Watson, but with the stallion of a man sat next to me. He may be painfully thin, but everything else about his looks are stunning. His brunette curls are glossy and soft in the sunlight; his cheekbones are displayed beautifully, not like they're tearing through his skin, but I could cut myself slapping that gorgeous face, and they give his face statuesque angles; his steel blue eyes shine, even if their life is disappearing; a side effect of being that thin. God-like beauty. I could almost have him, on this bench, until he begged for mercy twice. No, a man like this would never beg for mercy! If I wasn't so horribly disgusting, I'd flirt with him. It's a shame that I am as I am. I better at least talk to him, though.

"Your flat mate's coming now," I try to comfort him. If he wasn't so thin, he would have recovered by now. He must have fallen on a sharp stone, or something.

"Good." He coughs. He's starting to recover, I think.

"Are you good friends?" It's an innocent enough question, but his eyes flash with discomfort. He still answers, though. He's probably quite weak and unsure of what he's doing. I should know.

"I don't have friends…" he looks at me with some emotional pain in his eyes, "just the one."

My heart melts for him. Quick, change the subject.

"Why were you out jogging?" I ask, "You look quite weak; it surely was uncomfortable and hard!" _Do you really think that that is a better subject?!_

"I had to. John shouted at me, told me how much of an idiot I was being. I just couldn't stand it; so I changed and went for a run." Oh my God… he looks like he's about to cry! _Nice going, Irene!_

"Why was he calling you an idiot?" I really feel for this man. John Watson sounds like a horrible man! So why is he this sweetheart's only friend? _Irene, did you just mentally call him a sweetheart? Really?! _This is not the time to insult myself!

"I'm sorry, I know you're only trying to be nice; but I don't want to drag you into the things I'm going through. They're my concern."

"Is this about your Anorexia?" I couldn't help myself! _You're being such an idiot today, Irene!_

"How did you know?" He asks. Before I can answer, he takes the words out of my mouth, "Are you in the support group I've just joined?"

"Yeah, I am. How did you guess?" How does anyone guess that someone as fat as I am is an Anorexic?

"My deduction skills might not be what they were, but you're extremely thin…"

"No, I'm not. You are the thin one! I can see all of your ribs!" I exclaim. _So much for making him feel better!_

"I think you're projecting," he states as he gestures towards me. I look down and for a second, just a second; I see what he sees, I see what my mother sees, I see what everyone else in this goddamn world sees.

Thankfully, his flat mate turns up. "Right, come on. You're coming home with me and eating something!" John Watson shouts, "I have had enough of this! I know it's not exactly your fault and all; but just try Sherlock!"

The skeleton weakly gets up from his seat and looks back at me, "see you tonight, Miss Adler."

"Tonight?" his flat mate asks him.

"We're in the same support group," I elaborate; I get up to bid him goodbye for now, "nice to meet you, Mr Holmes. Under normal circumstances, I believe 'normal' people suggest dinner; maybe not for us, eh?" I laugh a little. _Oh my God! Are you flirting with him, you disgusting creature? You…_ That voice in my head gets smaller and smaller until it is silent, and I notice something. Am I in love with Sherlock Holmes? A man I've only just met?!

"Goodbye." He leaves with Dr Watson. I can't wait for tonight to come.


	3. If I wished to be patronised

"Irene, be polite please!" the psychologist in charge of the support group, Dr Franklin, sighed. It wasn't my fault! I was waiting for Sherlock, saving him a seat next to me, and one of the other members, Sally, just sat in it without permission! I knew that she was cheating on her husband, because I always get a hold of information like that, so I threatened to expose her to her husband if she didn't move! Words were said, nothing I regret, though. It doesn't defy expectation; when you force people to eat when they can't stand food in their mouths and stomachs, tensions tend to run high.

"I will if she sits somewhere else. I'm reserving this seat for someone," I excuse.

"Who could you possibly want to sit by!" Sally snorts.

"The new guy," I sigh, I don't realise how infatuated I sound. I sound like a little girl talking about the fairy-tale prince she wants to marry; but Sherlock is much too dark and scarred and deep to be a fairy-tale prince. I want to think of him as gothic and demonic; like I am inside my mind sometimes; but he isn't quite like that. He is human, despite his God-like looks. "We met earlier, in the park, by chance. He was nice to talk to…" I stare into the distance, remembering everything about him; his baritone voice, this feel of his snow white skin, his beautifully coloured eyes. God… I _am_ in love with Sherlock Holmes!

"Do you actually have feelings for someone you've only just met?!" Sally sneers.

"Husband!" I shout and she shuts up. Dr Franklin only pinches the bridge of his nose and the other support group members share questioning looks, unsure of what I mean.

At that moment, the door crashes open and Sherlock is pushed into the room by… What's his name? Dr Watson, that's it!

"Come on, Sherlock!" Dr Watson growls through gritted teeth.

"Ah, Miss Adler!" Sherlock calls, which sends shivers through my spine. He strides away from his flat mate and towards the now vacant chair, "I see you saved me a seat, how thoughtful."

"How do you feel after earlier?" I ask, "So sorry, again, by the way!"

"It's fine," he smiled. It was a little forced, but he is a sociopath.

"This is Sherlock Holmes, everyone. He's our new member," The patronising voice of Dr Franklin that I know all too well.

"Doctor Franklin; if I wished to be patronised, I'd have stayed with my flat mate," it wasn't said in anger; it was cold, clinical; but, God, it was attractive.

"Touché," I sigh, breathless.

"You're a fascinating woman, Miss Adler," he all but growls.

I flutter my eyelashes, "Irene," I correct, "Miss Adler is reserved for the bedroom scenario," I inch closer to him. Sally scoffs, but I hardly notice it.

"Can we get started with the session?!" Dr Franklin interrupts, breaking the heat.

Sherlock stands. "I don't think a man with father issues, divorced, an alcoholic, occasional drug user and past mental health issues has the right to council me on how 'messed up' I am!" I'm left breathless by this statement from Sherlock.

"How… How did you-?"

"How did I know? I didn't know I simply observed." I run my fingers against my lower lip. God, brainy is certainly sexy.

I stand and lean myself into Sherlock and put a hand on his chest. "Do you want to go and get some coffee with me instead of wasting our time here, Mr Holmes?"

"Sure," he shrugs, "And it's Sherlock." He winks at me and clicks his tongue. A sigh forces its way past my lips and he smiles.

We go for coffee, we have a great time. We exchange numbers and flirt a little via text; well, more accurately, I flit at him. But Mr Sherlock Holmes never saw me again; he still remains the most spectacular individual I've ever met. I hope I will see him again; I think we make a great couple.

So, Mr Holmes, if you're still out there; I'm not dead, let's have dinner. – IA.

~The End~


End file.
